


Love is a Blessing When It's Real

by StarlingHawke (Bowm8935)



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Teasing, then some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:33:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowm8935/pseuds/StarlingHawke
Summary: Five years ago Seven disappeared from Yoosung's life. Will he ever return?





	Love is a Blessing When It's Real

There’s a popular saying, one that’s been around longer than memory can track, well-worn and wrinkled around the edges as it’s passed down from generation to generation. ‘You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.’ A universal truth, a lesson to both young and old to never take anything for granted because it can be ripped away in less than a second. For some reason, Yoosung had thought he’d learned the first time, when Rika “died.”

Which is perhaps why it stings all the worse the second time around.

The alarm chirps unpleasantly throughout the room, yanking Yoosung from his less-than-restful sleep. It’s relieving, in a way, to no longer be attempting to force himself into the land of dreams and peace. Instead he rolls over, switches off the alarm that he’d forgotten to turn off, and stares at his phone. There’s no new messages, like usual; no blinking light to give him false hope that maybe today would be the end of his hell, that maybe today would be the day he’d come back.

Today marks five years since agent 707, aka Luciel Choi, disappeared from his life.

It’s not unusual for Yoosung to drink the night before to try to drown out the pain that he shouldn’t still be feeling and the hope that plagues him night and day. Whenever the anniversary falls on a weekday, he takes off the two days surrounding it to let himself wallow in utter despair without any outside interruption. It used to drive Hana crazy.

Hana. He wonders how she’s doing. Last he’d heard she was dating Zen. There was a time that might’ve given him a massive inferiority complex but it hardly matters now. She’s still active in the RFA, still the event coordinator but his own participation has dwindled over the past years. Call it depression, call it self-pity, call it whatever you want but he just can’t bring himself to care about something as minute as parties or the organization that’s at fault for introducing him to the man who essential ruined him for anyone else. His life has become one bland day after another, achieving only the minimum required of him except at work. The vet clinic is the only thing he throws himself into fully anymore, working longer hours than required and always doing his best to save any and every animal that comes through the door. That job is the culmination of his life’s work, after all; the only good thing he has to show for himself, the only connection to the bright young man he used to be.

With a groan, Yoosung levers himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. It’s greasy and he feels it stay standing when he lets go, but he can’t really bring himself to care. It’s already on the schedule for the day to shower so why worry about it? It’s just part of the routine he’s set for this day: get up, force himself to eat something, shower, bleach his hair so he looks roughly similar to how he used to, buy a bag of honey buddha chips and a PhD Pepper and go visit the last place he saw him.

The place Yoosung _finally_ realized how he felt toward Seven and where he saw his feelings reflected in those beautiful golden eyes. But by then it was too late. Just like usual, for Yoosung. He’s always too late.

 

-oOo-

 

The church smells like a mixture of old books and lemon-scented cleaning spray, every surface clean enough to nearly sparkle as Yoosung walks by. It's empty except for a woman praying up front, the long brown pews abandoned and the dark red carpet showing signs of recently being vacuumed. Yoosung hasn't been in many churches but he thinks this must be the cleanest one there is. Every time he's come here, from that fateful night until now it's been well-taken care of and in tip top shape. The stained glass windows sparkle, the scene of that one guy - Jesus? - hung on a cross reflecting over the inside in multifaceted light, far too pretty for such a depressing scene. Yoosung ignores it this time, making a beeline straight to the confessional booth. He stumbles on the step up to the small dais, another constant every year he comes. Will he ever remember it's there? Maybe on the day he can finally move on.

He knows he clings onto things for far too long; first Rika, now Seven. But five years is a far cry worse than 18 months, especially considering the amount of time the two parties were in his life. The way he'd constructed his life around Seven without realizing it, the way he'd always willingly played into his jokes and teasing even when he knew what was happening… it's hard to believe it took him so long to figure it out.

What was worse was that once he knew, there was no going back, no way of hiding it. Even with Seven gone it was only a matter of time before Hana picked up on it. He tried to go to therapy with her, he tried to push Seven out of his mind but in the end it was clear that his infatuation with Hana had been just that, and she left, too.

Had he sacrificed his eye for her or for him? Had he wanted to go so badly to Mint Eye’s headquarters because he wanted to help protect her, or was it because he'd wanted to make sure Seven was safe? Maybe a mixture of both, but looking back, it's clear as day what the major influence was.

The wood of the confessional is so clean it glistens like brand new. Yoosung runs his fingers over it, feeling the smooth surface and the dips and notches of the design. It's a beautiful mahogany, he thinks, and the love shown to it is obvious. This church feels like it's filled with love, unlike so much in his life and Yoosung's jealous. His eyes darken a moment before he shakes his head and sighs; he lost his chance at love, watched him run away in the dark of the night yelling to forget about him.

As if Yoosung ever could.

The urge to confess for the first time in his life rises so quickly that Yoosung staggers in surprise, eyes wide as he stares at the door leading into one of the booths. Tears prick at the back of his eyes and he knows anything told to him will be junk, useless, God this and God that but _shit_ wouldn't it be nice to have someone just _listen_ for once? It can't hurt, can it?

The woman's gone when Yoosung looks back her way, not that it truly matters. His hand trails down the outside of the door, grasping the small handle hesitantly before pulling it open and stepping inside. It's small, almost enough to be claustrophobic, and the air feels different. Thicker. He glances around for a place to sit but only sees what looks like knee pads on the floor. Wasn't there always a seat in movies? Biting his lip, Yoosung gives the box one final, desperate look before sinking to his knees in resignation.

The seconds feel like minutes, and minutes pass like hours. Yoosung fidgets impatiently, nervous and okay, maybe slightly intimidated by the idea that he's going to tell a random priest things he could never bring himself to talk about with his friends. When he _had_ friends. Before he became the lonely, empty husk playing at being Yoosung Kim.

He starts to doubt that anyone is coming. Are there only certain hours the church takes confessions? Was he supposed to let someone know, or is there a button or something in here? He scans the box again; nothing. Teeth sink into his lower lip as he starts to become increasingly unsure of his idea.

Maybe he should just go. Yeah, he should just go. This was a stupid idea anyway.

Pushing up off the floor, Yoosung reaches out for the door when he hears the one next to him creak softly and he freezes, the sound of someone shuffling into the booth next door greeting him. Shit. Well, too late to back out now. With an inaudible sigh, he kneels back down, waiting. Silence greets him. What… is he supposed to say something first? He searches the recesses of his mind for one of the times he's seen it on film. “Uhh… forgive me, F-Father, for I have sinned?” Hopefully that's right and he didn't say something offensive…

“Welcome, my child.” Yoosung lets out a breath in relief; apparently he's doing okay so far. “When was the last time you confessed?”

“O-oh, uh, never?” Yoosung hates how squeaky his voice sounds, almost like he's reverted back to the kid he was in college. “Never, sir, I don't… i don't usually attend church,” he admits nervously.

“There is no better time than the present to begin.” The voice is soft, non-judgmental. A baritone with the smallest accent. Some of Yoosung's nerves fade and he wonders where the priest is from for a moment before he's snapped back to reality. “What is it you'd like to confess?”

“Oh, I-” Yoosung halts, suddenly drawing a blank. “I-I'm not entirely sure, Father.”

“Take your time. Go on when you feel comfortable.” It's such a soothing voice, almost making Yoosung feel at home in a way. He hasn't had someone make him feel this way since… since…

Since Seven.

In a rush, it all comes back to him and he finds himself vomiting words left and right without a care to how he sounds.

“I-it’s just that… remember that shooting five years ago just down the road? The one where they never captured the culprits and just attributed it to gangs? It wasn't, it was a secret agency trying to take out my best friend but he ran.” Yoosung pauses, gulping down air. “I was with him that day, we were on our-our way to buy a videogame that'd just been released when they found him. And h-he grabbed my hand and whispered ‘run’ and we ran, oh god, we ran.”

“He knew all these back roads and… and hidden alleys and we thought we lost them but just in case we came and hid here, i-in the church.” He pauses again, but only silence greets him. The small cushioned board he's kneeling on squeaks when he shifts a little. A deep breath and he forges on, “right wh-where you're sitting, actually. I don't know how long we stayed there but it was until he was satisfied we could leave. Then he… he told me goodbye, and…” Damn, Yoosung promised himself he wouldn't cry but the tears are welling up as he relives that night. He sniffs ungracefully, then lets out a small cough. “S-sorry. He told me goodbye and that it wasn't safe for me to be around him anymore, but I didn't… I didn't realize he meant _forever._ I thought he meant that night or-or maybe a few days, weeks? But it's been _five years_ and I don't even know if he's even alive or if he’s…” _Dead_. Yoosung can't bring himself to say the word.

“It sounds like he left to protect you. I don’t know the circumstances that led up to him being shot at, but that in itself is a very honorable thing to do.”

Yoosung laughs wetly, bringing up a hand to wipe away the tears leaking over onto his cheeks. “Y-yeah, I know. And he’d warned me before that it was an inevitability that one day he’d probably have to leave but… but still I never believed he _actually_ would, you know?” Yoosung’s silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I-I… it was in that booth, right where you are, that I realized that I love him.” The word that he’d always believed would be joyful, a cause for celebration instead sends a spear as cold as ice through his heart and he leans over, fingers catching in his shirt as he grasps at his chest, tears falling unhindered now. “I’m s-sorry if you think me l-loving another man is wrong, but it’s the truth. It’s how I feel.”

There’s a soft laugh from the other side of the lattice-covered window. “Love is love in my eyes, young man. You needn’t worry.”

Echoing the priest’s laugh softly, Yoosung bites his lip and sniffles again. “I can’t believe it took me so long to notice, to figure out… He was always there, always just a text or a phone call away and willing to hang out if he was free. He was kind and caring even though he tried to pretend like he wasn’t. Yeah, his jokes could get a little mean sometimes but I always knew when he was teasing me so I can’t say I didn’t have it coming when I played along. I just… I miss him so much. And I’ve let my pain and longing poison the rest of my life.”

The sound of clothing rustling is loud in the quiet of the booth. “In what way?”

Yoosung frowns. Something sounds… off about the priest’s voice now. Almost guilty? No, that can't be right. He's hearing things. Probably doing that projecting thing his old therapist had mentioned he has a tendency to do.

“I can't let go.” Shrugging, Yoosung's hands drop to dangle limply at his side. “I can't let go of the ‘what if’s and ‘maybe’s and I can't douse the flame of hope in my heart telling me that he'll come back one day.”

“Hope is not a bad thing to have.”

A bitter laugh escapes him. “It is when it chases away your girlfriend and when it doesn't let you move on. The only reason I managed to drag myself through the last year of uni was because I was afraid of disappointing him when he came back.” It had been a trying time; alone again, nursing a hurt heart (though not broken- it had been broken for years at this point and he never loved Hana enough for her to be able to break it more) and fresh on the heels of being dumped? Yoosung had nearly dropped out. What was the point if he had no one to take care of and no one wanted him bad enough to stick around? But then he'd considered what would happen if Seven came back and saw how far he'd fallen from grace. Yoosung couldn't bear his disappointment, wouldn't be able to handle the guilt if Seven found out why. “She left because I couldn't stop talking about _when Seven comes home_ and kept coming back here with the stupid idea that he would be waiting for me. She figured it out, in the end. That I loved him, not her. Never could hide my feelings well.”

The tears are falling again but harder this time, faster. “I-I feel like I'm stuck, l-like I can't move forward until he's back. Like he took a part of me, a part of my _soul_ with him and now I'm empty, just… just a skeleton pretending to get through the day. I know I need to move on but I can't…!” He can hear the soft plop of the tears on his jeans, can feel another part of his heart wilting. “I thought love was supposed to be beautiful, a blessing. Not painful and… and a _curse.”_

“...love is a blessing. When it's real, that is. Like the love from God; He'll never leave or abandon you. He's always there when you need Him.”

“But that's not who I want to love me!” Shit, he'd been too loud, his voice echoing out into the church. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. “Sorry I shouted, Father,” he mumbles, wiping the tears away again. “I just… I want _him.”_

The silence drags on far too long before a soft sigh comes from the other side of the wall. “How do you know you truly loved him? If you don't know why the agency was after him, perhaps you didn't know him at all?”

“Because I _do,”_  Yoosung whispers. “I… I can't explain it, I just _know.”_ He can no longer hold back his sobs and he leans forward until his head rests against one of the walls, shoulder shaking and body trembling. “It wasn't until h-h-he was gone that I n-noticed how much of my life he'd taken up. I-I'd planned stuff around him a-and considered what he'd like way more than I th-thought. I still do.” The intensity of his crying increases and he slaps a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the sound. “I'd give anything to see him again,” he whimpers. This hurts, _oh god it hurts,_ but at the same time it feels like maybe this is a step in the right direction. Like maybe he's puking up all the toxins so that he can finally move on.

“Yoosung, I'm so sorry.”

Wait, what?

Yoosung blinks, tries to peer into the lattice but there’s no one there, the door shutting rather violently. Before he fully comprehends the situation, the door to his side is being slammed open to reveal none other than a certain red-haired, golden-eyed man with the stupidest glasses Yoosung's ever seen. Glasses that he's missed sorely.

His eyebrows knit upward and he wipes at his eyes once more, trying to rid himself of the blurriness from the tears and the obvious hallucination of his sleep-deprived, cruel mind. “S...Seven?” he whimpers hopefully, standing slowly. “Is… is that you?”

He feels warm arms wrap around him, tugging him to stumble forward into a solid chest, a zipper digging into one of his arms as he tries to get his bearings. Something brushes against his scalp, pushing past his hair - a nose? Yoosung’s stiff, confused and so unsure of what’s going on that he jumps when a hand starts stroking down his back gently.

“It’s me, Yoosung. I’m back.” That voice, that familiar, soothing voice… “I’m sorry I was gone for so long, I… I wanted to come back sooner but I _couldn’t_ , please let me explain…”

It’s real, _he’s real,_ he’s _actually_ here and he’s _holding Yoosung._ Letting out a sob, Yoosung buries his face into Seven’s chest and inhales, smelling the subtle scent of honey and butter, PhD Pepper, Seven’s cologne. His arms circle around Seven’s back and he clings to him, clutching fists into the material that feels like Seven’s jacket and god, Yoosung can identify the jacket from _feel,_ just how far had he fallen before he’d finally realized?

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Seven hushes him, hand continuing to make soft movements along his spine. “I promise, everything will be okay from now on, alright? Just… let’s go somewhere where I can explain. Somewhere we can talk.”

Yoosung nods, sniveling but he clutches tighter when Seven starts to let go of him. “D-don’t leave me again, _please,”_ he begs, pulling back just enough to look up into the one face he’s wanted to see for years now. It surprises him to see tears gathered in those golden eyes, making them shimmer in a way he’s never seen before. Seven’s never once cried in front of him, _never._ Yoosung wants to soothe them away, to make him feel better but how can he when he isn’t even holding it together? The only thing keeping him going right now is that he can still see the affection hidden there, except now it’s also written freely across Seven’s face. Oh, how Yoosung could just _kiss_ him right now…

As though reading his mind, Seven smirks and brings a finger up to gently poke at Yoosung’s nose. “Ah, ah, don’t be thinking such things in a church, you naughty boy,” he teases, laughing as Yoosung wrinkles his nose. Seven’s expression morphs back into a serious one and he places that hand on Yoosung’s cheek, cupping it and wiping away any tears as they fall. “I won’t leave you. We can just… go grab something to eat? Or…”

“My place.” Yoosung’s voice comes out a hoarse whisper and he clears his throat, letting go of Seven’s jacket and stepping back. “Let’s go back to my place. There’s food there if you’re hungry and a lot of tissues for me.” Smiling weakly, he places his hand on top of Seven’s. It’s so warm. It’s so _real._

“Your place it is,” Seven agrees readily, wiggling his hand under Yoosung’s until he can intertwine their fingers. Yoosung’s heart flutters so hard that he thinks it might grow wings and just fly away and he bites his lip, watching as Seven slowly lifts their hands off Yoosung’s cheek and brings them over to his lips, placing a whisper-soft kiss on Yoosung’s wrist before letting them fall in between them. “Lead the way, babe.”

God. If Seven keeps saying things like _that_ , Yoosung’s going to have a heart attack before they leave the church.

 

-oOo-

 

Yoosung’s nursing a cup of water and staring at Seven with wide eyes as Seven explains everything that went on for the five years they were apart. Fantastical battles with ex-members of the agency, seeking revenge on the person responsible for its downfall and their exposition; a battle to save his brother from the evil clutches of Mint Eye (and Yoosung is beyond shocked to find out the very person responsible for the damage to his eye is none other than Seven’s _twin)_ ; years upon years of rehab to help Saeran recover and learn to function normally again; time spent building new aliases for both of them so that they could one day return to the city where it all began.

“So Saeran’s somewhere around here too?” Yoosung asks carefully, uncertain as to how this new information makes him feel. After many eye surgeries and subsequent recoveries, his eye is about as healed as it’s going to get - that is to say that he needs to wear glasses or one singular contact to correct his vision minutely, but it’s still preferable to the condition it was in before. He usually chooses the contact.

Still, how should he feel about the person being responsible for that being set free? True, he’s “recovered” and Yoosung trusts that Seven wouldn’t just… _set loose_ a crazy man upon the streets of Seoul but there’s definitely a lot of complicated emotions coursing through him. Not to mention that he’s Seven’s twin brother, which explains why he looked so familiar back then…

Seven nods, taking a sip of the bottle of PhD Pepper he’d insisted they stop and grab on their way back. They’d held hands the entire way, Yoosung unwilling to let go for fear that Seven would bolt from his life once more. Seven had obliged him without any complaint.

“Yeah. He might be out, or he could be at the apartment we’re staying in.” Seven shrugs and gives Yoosung a tight smile. “I don’t really keep track of him anymore. He’s been deemed safe by multiple psychiatrists and he has a lot of coping mechanisms at his disposal if he needs them. But, uh… I don’t expect you to meet him unless you ever want to.”

“Maybe someday,” Yoosung muses quietly, staring at a corner of the living room as he contemplates meeting up with Saeran again under wildly different circumstances than the first time. “Does he still have his white hair?”

Seven snorts. “He doesn’t right now, but he’s been talking about going back to it. Not my choice, as long as he doesn’t start to kidnap people again. I think he just wants to look different from me and the eyes aren’t enough.” There’s a hint of sadness in Seven’s voice and Yoosung scoots closer on the couch, resting a hand on his thigh. Seven looks at it in surprise then flashes Yoosung a grateful smile.

“Anyway,” he says, tossing up his arms in a grandiose gesture, “that’s my life for the past five years. Exciting stuff, huh?”

Exciting is one way of putting it. Yoosung understands completely why Seven wasn’t in contact with him now, even if it still stings a little that he didn’t even send one email. “I’m just happy you’re back,” he whispers. “Although…” he moves his arm to Seven’s shoulder and shoves him as hard as he can, sendling a surprised Seven toppling over for a moment. “You could’ve just came over and said ‘hey, I’m back’ instead of pretending to be a priest, you know.”

“Where’s the fun in that!?” Seven retorts, straightening back up with his signature lopsided grin. “Besides, it got you to confess your feelings to me, right?”

“I would’ve told you no matter what!” Yoosung grumbles, feeling his face to start to burn. It’s true, one way or the other the truth would’ve slipped out eventually. “You didn’t have to let me, like… air out _everything!”_

“It was good for you,” Seven snickers, pinching Yoosung’s cheek and laughing when Yoosung bats his hand away with an annoyed grunt. “Get it all out instead of letting those feelings fester inside of you. Besides, now I know that~ you’re~ in~ love~ with~ me~!” He leans closer and makes kissy faces, smacking his lips obnoxiously.

“Oh my god,” Yoosung groans, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t know _why,_ you’re so weird…”

“It’s part of my charm.”

Fingers wrap around Yoosung’s wrists and he lets them tug his hands away from his face, though he continies to avoid looking at Seven. “Hey, look at me, cutie,” Seven says softly, voice teasing but with something else behind it. Fondness? “I love when that blush is for me. Let me see it and that adorable face of yours?”

Yoosung feels his heart start to race as the air becomes charged between them. Chewing the inside of his lip, he looks up at Seven from beneath the fringe of his hair, shivering when Seven releases a wrist to brush away some of the blond locks.

“You cut your hair. You look so grown-up now. No longer the innocent little college boy I once knew.” Seven drops the other wrist and grasps Yoosung’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head back up to look at him properly. “Still bleach it, though. I was surprised.”

“I did it to make sure you could recognize me.” Yoosung’s voice is soft, embarrassed. “I don’t bleach my hair the rest of the year. Once it grows out, I leave it… until the next year when I visit the church.”

Seven’s brows dip and Yoosung sees him pull his lower lip between his teeth, eyes searching his own. “Why?” he asks, disbelief coloring his voice. “Why did you… why did you wait? Keep looking for me?”

Yoosung blinks slowly before huffing out a short laugh. “You’re seriously going to ask that after listening to everything I said in that booth?” Setting down his cup, Yoosung leans forward and places his palm on Seven’s cheek, gazing intensely at him. “Because I love you. There’s never been anyone else.”

“But… but Hana…” Seven argues weakly. Yoosung can feel him pressing into his hand and he starts to stroke along the skin lazily.

“That was never love. I… I thought it was, but it wasn’t.” Yoosung pauses, takes a breath. “It wasn’t until we were crowded together in that booth that I realized the full extent of my feelings for you. I wanted to be with you but I was bound to another. Had you stuck around I would’ve broke up with her for you. But you left… and I waited.” His face softens and he smiles. “Because I love you.”

Seven moves so fast that Yoosung doesn’t see it coming until rough lips crash against his and he falls back on the couch, head slamming into the arm of it. “I-I… shit,” Seven gasps, panicked. “Are you okay?”

Yoosung opens his mouth, pauses, then smirks. “That hurts,” he whines in imitation of how he used to speak. “Maybe you should kiss it better?”

Surprise flits across Seven’s face but in a fraction of a second he’s crawling over Yoosung and pressing their lips together again, a wild passion behind the kiss that Yoosung’s never felt before. It saps his breath and he gasps, moaning when Seven takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside of Yoosung’s mouth.

Yoosung’s hands slide up and around Seven’s neck, pulling him even closer, deepening the kiss even more. Seven’s tongue slides against his own, slowly at first, the faster and faster until the two are performing a dance of their own. It feels like bolts of electricity are snapping through him, charging him up and making him want more, more, _more._ Yoosung trails a finger down from Seven’s neck until he can crook a finger into the frame of those ridiculous glasses, parting their lips long enough to yank them clumsily off his face and toss them onto the coffee table, satisfied to hear the thud that tells him he hit the mark.

“Eager,” Seven whispers, his breath brushing across Yoosung’s lips. “What was it you always liked to be called? Was it… puppy?”

Heat rushes through Yoosung and sets his blood on fire as well as his face. “Y...yes,” he replies, both embarrassed and entirely turned on.

“Hmm.” Seven walks his fingers down Yoosung’s side at a snail’s pace, eyes glued to Yoosung’s to catch every shiver, every small tremble or intake of breath. “You’ve been a very good puppy, you know.”

Yoosung lets out a soft whine, eyes going dark. “I have?” he asks, his breath quickening.

“Mmhmm.” Seven’s fingers slip under Yoosung’s shirt and start to trace small circles on the skin there, sending goosebumps skittering across his stomach. “You waited for me. So loyal, such a good dog. How should I reward you?” He drags a finger along the flesh above Yoosung’s waistband, and Yoosung feels his muscles contract involuntarily at the touch.

“Oh, god,” he groans, head falling back limply on the arm of the couch. Seven’s hitting all of the things that took Yoosung _years_ to find out about himself in a matter of minutes; had Seven known more about Yoosung than he had? “I’ll take a-anything you give me,” he whimpers desperately, forcing himself to keep his hips still even though he’s already half-hard and craving friction.

“A kiss, then?” Seven asks sweetly, ghosting his lips against Yoosung’s first before pressing them more firmly together. Yoosung desperately clings to him, wanting anything he can get but Seven pulls back too soon, licking his lips. He pauses for a moment, eyes sweeping over Yoosung as Yoosung pants heavily, eyes blown wide in lust. “God, you’re beautiful,” Seven murmurs, ducking back down for another kiss, this time jumping straight into the passionate kiss Yoosung’s desiring.

Seven’s hands drag over Yoosung’s skin and tease along the waistband of his jeans but never dip any lower. One slips up to find Yoosung’s nipple and scratches a nail across it lightly, dragging a moan from low in Yoosung’s throat out of him that Seven swallows. Seven does it again, then again and then rolls the sensitive nub between his fingers, smiling against Yoosung’s lips when Yoosung arches up into his fingers. “You like that?” he asks, pinching at the nipple.

“Hah… harder,” Yoosung begs, voice rough with desire.

Seven sits back enough to look at Yoosung’s face in surprise before the corners of his lips curl up. “I always thought you might be a masochist,” he teases, pinching the nipple significantly harder.

Yoosung yelps and then moans loudly, his hips rocking up against Seven of their own volition. His mind is going fuzzy; there was a reason he wasn’t doing that but he can’t remember now. It feels so good and he can feel that Seven is hard too, so he does it once more, gratified when Seven emits a broken moan.

“F-fuck, Yoosung,” Seven pants, rolling his own hips down against Yoosung’s. “I-I… I don’t want to push you too far…”

Too far? The words bounce around the blurry walls of Yoosung’s mind a bit before he catches them and forces himself to think about what Seven means. “Touch me,” he whispers, lifting his hips just a little to help punctuate his request. “Please, Seven, please, touch me.”

Yoosung watches as Seven gulps, clearly tempted, but then he shakes his head. “N-no, I can’t, it wouldn’t be right, I just… I just came back into your life tonight and you’re emotional,” he babbles. Yoosung gets the feeling he’s trying to talk himself into what he’s saying more than Yoosung. “We should wait, wait until you’re thinking clearly and know what’s going on, wait until I dunno, maybe, maybe we’ve been together longer…”

With a sigh, Yoosung pushes himself up and supports his weight on one forearm, holding his free hand softly over Seven’s mouth. “I’ve waited five years for you, Seven,” he states firmly, looking directly into Seven’s eyes. “ _Five. Years._ I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“Are you sure?” The question is muffled against Yoosung’s hand so he draws it away. Seven’s eyebrows knit together upward as he stares at Yoosung with an odd look on his face. “Don’t feel like you have to for me, I can-”

“Just shut up and touch me,” Yoosung growls, grabbing one of Seven’s hands and shoving it down to the roundness in his jeans. Seven quiets immediately, shifting his weight and grinding down on Yoosung’s erection with his palm. _Finally,_ some relief. Pleasure overtakes him again and Yoosung collapses back on the couch, moaning unabashedly and rolling his hips up to meet Seven’s hand.

“How far?” Seven asks, biting his lip as he keeps moving his palm, the fingers of his free hand digging into Yoosung’s waist. “I need to know what the limits are, Yoosung, please.”

Thinking, thinking, always making him _think._ Yoosung doesn’t want to think he wants to feel but he has to answer so he tries to make his pleasure-laden brain work. “Uh… I don’t have any stuff for… _that,_ ” he says vaguely, assuming Seven will know what he means. “But anything else is f-fine.”

“Anything?” Seven’s voice dips, causing Yoosung’s stomach to swoop like he’s on a rollercoaster, but better. “What if I…” He shuffles down Yoosung’s body, dropping kisses as he goes; down Yoosung’s chest, pausing to suck on each nipple through the shirt (a sensation quite unlike anything he’s felt before and _god_ does Yoosung like it), lifting up the hem to scatter them along his stomach. Yoosung writhes and moans softly, tangling his fingers in Seven’s curly hair when suddenly Seven licks firmly at his hardness over his jeans and Yoosung lets out a long whine, tapering off into a soft chant of “yes, yes, yes.”

A soft gasp leaves Yoosung as he feels fingers toying with the button of his jeans and he lifts his head to see Seven looking straight at him, a glint in his eye as he first pops the button, then lowers the zipper. Long fingers curl into the waistband and Yoosung lifts his hips as Seven shimmies both his jeans and underwear down at the same time, freeing Yoosung’s cock to the cool air.

Seven finally looks away from his face to stare instead at his dick, and Yoosung almost dies when he sees the look of pure lust on his face. “Goddamn, Yoosung,” he murmurs in awe, a finger brushing lightly against the tip and _fuuuuck,_ Yoosung’s throwing his head back with a moan.

“S...Seven,” he pants, looking down when he hears a disapproving click of the tongue.

“Can you… call me Saeyoung?” Seven asks quietly, scratching at his cheek far too awkwardly for a man who’d just been complimenting Yoosung’s dick. “It’s, uh. It’s my real name…”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, Sae… Saeyoung,” Yoosung replies instantly, nodding. “If that’s what you want.”

“Thank you.” Sev- no, Saeyoung’s smile is genuine and Yoosung smiles back, feeling like his heart is overflowing with love in that instant. Before he can dwell on it for too long, Saeyoung’s smile switches to a smirk and he pushes himself up far enough to undo his own jeans. “Now be a good puppy and look at me the whole time,” he demands, sending a shiver running straight down Yoosung’s spine.

“Okay,” Yoosung answers meekly, eyes trained on Saeyoung’s hands as they slowly, teasingly push down his own jeans and underwear. He inhales sharply at the sight of Saeyoung’s cock bobbing free, flushed and ready for him, for _Yoosung._ _Is this a dream?_ he asks himself for the millionth time, unaware that his lips parted until Saeyoung’s finger is slipped into his mouth. “Mmmpf!?”

“Glad you know good equipment when you see it, but you’re not looking where I told you to, you naughty boy,” Saeyoung growls lowly, pressing his finger down against Yoosung’s tongue. Yoosung’s eyes flick up to meet his and Saeyoung hums happily. “Lick my fingers,” he orders, sliding two more in Yoosung’s mouth.

Confused but also very desperate to please, Yoosung does as he’s told, licking around each finger and in between enthusiastically, laving them with his spit. He can feel himself starting to drool out of the corner of his mouth but still Saeyoung waits, hovering over Yoosung with his fingers in his mouth.

He’s not sure how much time passes before Saeyoung finally withdraws his fingers but the wait is worth it the moment he feels that same hand wrap around his cock, spreading the wetness of his saliva all over it. Yoosung wants to buck his hips into that hand but Saeyoung’s free one pins him down, shaking his head. “Stay still for me, okay? It’ll make this a little easier…”

Yoosung furrows his brows and opens his mouth to ask what Saeyoung means when he feels Saeyoung’s dick brush up against his own and he risks a glance down to see that he’s wrapped both of their erections in his hand. When he looks back up, Saeyoung is smirking.

“Naughty puppy. What should I do with you now? Should I… maybe _not_ touch you?”

“No, please, please, I’m sorry!” Yoosung begs, trembling with restrained want and need. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, please!”

A husky laugh escapes Saeyoung and he slowly pumps his hand once, twin moans falling from both of their lips at the movement. “You feel so good,” Saeyoung groans, moving his hand in a steady motion. “So hot and - fuck, nnng- and hard against me.”

Yoosung’s hands drop to Saeyoung’s shoulders and he arches up, whining and whimpering. This feels so much better than he’d dreamed off, though to be fair his dreams had only consisted of Saeyoung’s hand wrapped around his own cock, not both of theirs. “Sae… Saeyoung,” he moans, already feeling the heat coiling in his belly. “I’m not… going to last long,” he warns, forcing himself to keep looking at Saeyoung’s face despite how much he wants to throw his head back.

Saeyoung grunts in reply, taking a moment before responding with words. “Me… me either.”

The speed of Saeyoung’s hand increases, pushing Yoosung closer when nails dig into his stomach and drag across the skin harshly, pulling a yelp from him. “More, more!” he begs, panting and writhing as the pain combines with the pleasure to increase his enjoyment even more. He’s rewarded with another sharp sting of nails, this time hitting his nipple and causing him to wail.

“Keep… making noises… like that… and I’m… fucked…” Saeyoung husks between jagged breaths.

Yoosung’s hands scrabble at Saeyoung’s back as he feels himself being wound tighter, almost to the breaking point. “I can’t… much longer…” One more scratch, one more undiluted moment of pleasure will no doubt push him over the edge.

“G-good boy, behaving so, nnng, so well and l-listening to me.” Saeyoung’s breathing is getting more and more uneven and his hand speeds up again as he watches Yoosung through half-lidded eyes. “I want… I want you to cum for me.”

The way it’s said sounds like an order, one last shudder ripping through Yoosung before he does as he’s told, toppling into ecstasy with a shout. Waves of pleasure cascade through him, stronger than he’s felt in a long time, possibly ever. He hears himself speaking but he’s not sure what he’s saying, his ears unable to decipher past the slur in his voice. It’s not much longer before he feels Saeyoung’s hand stutter momentarily in it’s pace before it resumes, Seven’s arm coming to rest on the cushion beside Yoosung’s head as he holds himself up, milking their orgasms until Yoosung’s limp on the couch with Saeyoung collapsed on top of him.

Yoosung hums softly, arms tight around Saeyoung as he buries his nose into his neck. “I love you, Saeyoung,” he murmurs happily.

“I love you too, Yoosung.”

Yoosung’s heart leaps for joy and he squeezes a little harder, earning him a strangled laugh and a request to allow for breathing room, if at all possible. Love doesn’t need to be suffocating, after all.

A stupid joke, hopefully the first of many Yoosung can groan and fake push Saeyoung away for. Five years is a long time, but worth it if Yoosung gets everything he’s ever wanted at the end of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Did you love it? Did you... *gasp* hate it? Let me know! I'm always open for reviews, comments and helpful criticism.  
> I'm here to grow. :)
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr as [cutiesaeran](http://cutiesaeran.tumblr.com/) or twitter [@MysticHawke](https://twitter.com/MysticHawke/)!


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